


The Odds are not in Our Favor (But We're Still Fighting)

by aw_gender_no



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Baby Albert, Blood, Character Death, F/F, Gen, Google Translate Italian, Hope you enjoy, Hunger Games, I'm Sorry, Injury, M/M, Not sure about the title, Reapings (Hunger Games), Ships to be determined, Sorry if my writing sucks, Violence, don't worry I won't kill them all, if anyone knows italian and wants to help/correct me please do, it may change, other characters to be added - Freeform, quarantine inspiration makes me write a fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:14:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24327880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aw_gender_no/pseuds/aw_gender_no
Summary: The Hunger Games are every district kid's nightmare. But if you pray hard enough you won't get chosen, at least, that's what they tell themselves.But when they get reaped into the 75th Hunger Games, it's a battle for survival they're not sure they can win.No one is lucky when the world is set against you, but maybe, if you're determined enough, you can make your own.Newsies Hunger Games au
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22





	1. Racetrack

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! it's my first Newsies story, yay! I'm so excited to write this and I hope I can do justice to the amazing stories that are hunger games and Newsies! I would love and appreciate any feedback you're willing to give as I'm trying to improve my writing. Stay safe and enjoy, loves!

It was cold on the day of the reaping, at least Race thought so, but he was always cold. His mamma said it was because warmth was in his blood, she said that when he was born the sun blessed him. She would ruffle his golden curls and tell him “ti amo il mio sol”, my sunshine. She told him that this morning, as he buttoned up his best shirt, trying his best to smooth his hair. 

The shirt was ragged and worn, the hem of his pants fell just a little too high on his ankle, but mama said that they had belonged to his papa, so Race wore them proudly. He never knew his papa. He died when he was just a baby, when the peacekeepers caught him trying to steal fabric from the factory. The winter had been cold, with no blankets, Race had almost died.

His mamma pulled her shawl more closely around her shoulders as they walked to the square, her eyes cast down to the street. Race took her hand as they walked.

“It’ll be ok mamma, I’ll be ok.” she squeezed his hand. And ran a hand through her hair.

“Lo so, piccolo, but it doesn’t make me any less scared.”

“There are lots of people with their names in the jar many more times than me mamma, we’ll be ok.” 

His mamma went quiet, pulling his hand to her heart. Race kissed her softly on the cheek,

“It’s going to be ok mamma,”

The square was packed when they got there, The entirety of district eight, all gathered to see who would die next. Race let go of his mamma’s hand with one last whispered goodbye, and went to stand with the other kids his age. A group from the capitol were standing on the stage in front of them. A single glass ball, holding the names of every teenager in the district was in the center, like a menace, reminding everyone that someone was leaving them today. 

The capitol woman walked to the microphone and cleared her throat.

“Hello citizens of district 8! I am Hannah Fernsby, and on behalf of the capitol I welcome you to the reaping for the 75th annual Hunger Games!” The cheer in her voice sounded forced as it echoed over the silence of the square. Her gaudy green and orange dress was out of place against the dull shades of the district streets. Race drew his arms around himself and stared at the ground between her feet, trying to look anywhere but at the reaping ball in front of her. 

“Alright! Shall we begin?” she dug her hand into the jar, rifling through the slips of paper, she finally settled on one and drew it out, unfolding it. 

“The first tribute from district 8 will be,” she cleared her throat and paused as the square held its breath. “Albert Dasilva!” 

Race felt his stomach drop out at the name. His legs seemed unable to bear his weight as he stumbled to the front of the pack of kids. A figure with red hair was being pulled out into the center and walked up to the stage, his freckles stood out starkly against his now ghostly face. 

Albert. Race had known Albert since the day he was born, when his father had walked into his mother’s shop to buy a treat for his wife, a new mother. Race was only five at the time, fascinated by the tiny bundle in the man’s arms. When Albert’s mother had died, his father started bringing him to the shop, paying Race to look out for him while he was at work. Race had loved him immediately, finding a brother that he had never gotten in the younger boy.

It was his first year in the reaping, only twelve. Race had spent the previous night assuring him that his name would never be picked. He stumbled forward, breaking out of the crowd and into the aisle. 

“Albert,” his voice came out in a choked sob, then louder, “ALBERT!” Albert looked back at him, tears streaming down his face,

“Race,” it was barely a whisper, as the young boy clawed feutily at the sleeve of the peacekeeper dragging him towards the stage.

Race felt a hand on his arm, pulling him back roughly, something was pressed to his head,

“You better get back kid,” the voice was rough and cold, the person pressed the object harder against his head, he heard his mother scream, “wouldn’t want to make a scene would we?”

“Wait,” Race sobbed, “Wait! I volunteer,” The square went deathly silent. The peacekeeper holding Albert stopped, Race pulled away from the person holding him.

“I volunteer, I volunteer as tribute!”


	2. Davey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm super excited about this and have no self control, here! have another chapter. I hope you like it. I hope to get one up tomorrow as well.

David tucked Les’ shirt back into the front of his pants for the tenth time that morning.

“Come on Les, can you stop wiggling?” Les went still as David smoothed the shirt and pulled his suspenders back over his shoulders. He brushed Les’ hair away from his face and moved back into the kitchen where his mother and father were waiting for them. 

He was eighteen, it was his final reaping before he aged out of the Hunger Games completely, it was Les’ first year. Sarah, had aged out the year before and he was grateful that at least one of his siblings was out of danger. 

His mother bustled around the counter and fussed with David’s hair. Running her fingers through it and tutting under her breath.

“Oh, David. Your hair is an absolute mess, here let me get the comb.” 

David knew for a fact that his hair was fine, but he let her brush the comb through it, knowing that it kept her somewhat grounded. 

His father was spreading butter over their last two pieces of bread and setting them down on the table. District nine was known for their breads, the capitol loved the taste of them. David didn’t get to eat the nice breads much, they were too expensive for his family to afford. The bread that they ate was made of the leftovers, the grain that the capitol didn’t want. It was tough and bitter, David ate it anyway. 

The weather outside was too sunny for a reaping, at least David thought so, the sun shone across the streets, glinting golden on the wheat fields in the distance. David had always loved the wheat fields, they stretched on for miles. Gentle hills of gold that spread into the distance. It was almost freeing standing in the middle of them, letting the world melt away and just forgetting. Les tapped him on the shoulder.

“David,” he held out his hand, in his palm was a shining Star of David, it glittered in the light from the window, matching the fields, “Mom gave me one too,” Les pulled a gold chain from under his shirt, “She says it will give us good luck,”

David’s mother had always told them stories about the times before the capitol, when there was peace and freedom, and no children dying in sick games. She told them that there was beauty there. She always wore a Star of David around her neck, she said the only reason that she knew what it was called was because her mother had told her. She had named him after that star, saying that she hoped one day she would know what it meant, but for now she knew that it was beautiful, and she hoped for beauty in his life too. David slipped the chain over his neck and tucked it under his shirt. He wrapped his arms around his mother.

“Thank you ma, I love you,” 

Esther buried her fingers in David’s hair, holding his face against her neck.

“I love you too, my star,” she pulled away slightly, tracing her fingers over his cheekbones, “We should go, we’ll be late. Only once more and you’re free David.”

David’s father led them into the square, it was full of people staring at the dusty streets. His father held tightly to his mother’s hand as they walked, squeezing it almost painfully tight. David guided Les by the shoulder, steering him around the crowd and over to the children in his age group. He pulled him to his chest and placed a kiss on his forehead.

“It’ll be ok, Les, you won’t get chosen, you’re too young, you’ll be alright.” Les nodded against him before letting him go.

“I love you David,”

“I love you too,”

David went to go stand with the other eighteen year olds staring at the ground as the rest of the people filtered into the square. A woman from the capitol stepped up to the mic.

“Welcome citizens of district nine, to the reaping for the 75th annual hunger games!” 

David stared at the ground.

“My name is Hannah Fernsby, and I will be picking out our lucky tributes today!” someone gave a short bark of laughter at that, causing the peacekeepers to look around the crowd to try and pinpoint the noise. 

The woman from the capitol placed her hand in the jar, the rustling sound of the slips of paper could be heard all across the square. She pulled one out, smoothing it between her fingers.

“And our first tribute will be,” she paused looking over the crowd in front of her, “David Jacobs!” 

David went numb, he could feel his hands shaking and knew he had to move, but he couldn’t. He heard his mother’s muffled scream from the crowd behind him. He saw the tears on his father’s face. He could hear Les screaming his name. He forced himself to walk forward. 

The aisle seemed impossibly long, the short walk stretched out before him like the wheat fields did in August, like an irrational task that he had to conquer. One foot in front of the other. He felt the wooden stairs beneath his feet, felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Let's give it up for district nine’s first tribute!” The crowd was silent, he could hear Les sobbing. 

“Well folks, we can’t leave it at that can we?” The capitol woman’s voice cut too cheerfully through the morning air. David forced himself to look up at the crowd.

The Capitol woman’s hand went back into the jar, but David felt nothing, she couldn’t do anything worse than she a already had. The papers were even louder from up here.

“And the second tribute will be… oh! Well isn’t this interesting folks,” A slight murmur went through the crowd, David stood still, “Les Jacobs!” 

David’s heart stopped, his knees gave out beneath him and his hands hit the wood of the stage, he could see the peacekeepers dragging Les out of the sea of people by his arm. His Father was screaming, his mother looked numb. Les looked blurry through his tears, when had he started crying? He felt a hand on his arm, dragging him back upwards. 

“Alright folks! Let’s hear it for the tributes of district nine!”


	3. Spot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are with another chapter! I hope you guys enjoy it! Drop me a comment if you can. Thanks loves!

Spot pushed his knife into the sheath on his thigh, listening to the satisfying sound it made as it slid in. Smalls laughed, pushing her hair out of her eyes,

“You’re losing your touch Spotty,” Spot smacked her over the back of the head,

“Yeah right, that’s not what you said yesterday when I had a knife at your throat,” Smalls danced out of his reach, her braid whipping around her face. 

“The reaping is today,”

“I know,”

They had been avoiding the topic all morning, pushing each other back and forth across the training mat just like they always did. They both knew what was coming though, the people had picked them. They said they were the best, that they would bring glory to district one. Spot didn’t want to die. Smalls didn’t either. 

Spot collapsed onto the mat, leaning forward on his knees and burying his head in his hands. Smalls laid out on the ground next to him, pressing her calves against his thigh. 

“I don’t want either of us to die, Spot,”

Spot was silent. Smalls rolled over onto her side, laying her head in his lap. They were young, Smalls was fifteen, Spot was only a year older. It wasn’t normal for someone their age to be chosen to compete in the games. District one prided themselves on their title of most Hunger Games won, it made Spot sick. They would have to volunteer this year, him and Smalls. He slid the knife out of its sheath again and watched how the fluorescent lights reflected in the blade. 

They heard the door open on the other side of the gym and Hotshot poked his head in.

“Come on you two, it’s time to go.”

Spot walked next to Hotshot down the main street, the people were laughing and cheering as they moved towards the district square. Some were casting Spot looks as he walked past. They knew who was going to the games. Hotshot grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side of the crowd. 

“Are you alright?” 

Spot shook his head, laughing bitterly.

“What do you think? I’m going to my death, Hotshot,”

“You know, it’s an honour-”

Spot cut him off

“Do you really believe that?” 

Hotshot hung his head, squeezing Spot’s bicep harder. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” There were tears in his eyes now as he looked down at the shorter boy, “I don’t want to lose Smalls either,”

“I know,” Spot pulled Hotshot’s hand off of his arm, “We have to go, we’ll be late,”

Spot looked down at his shoes as they walked through the crowded streets, they were nice shoes, too nice for a kid like him. He had no family, he was an orphan kid, an orphan kid in district one, the richest district in the capitol. After his mother had died, an old victor had taken him in. Told him he was going to train him to be the best, so that he could win the games, just like he had. 

His mother had always believed in the good in the world, had always told him to never start believing in the capitol’s sick games. So he hadn’t. He cried as he watched past year’s tributes die on the screens in the square, the people around him cheered, and celebrated the ‘noble death’ of a kid not much older than him. Spot knew that the deaths weren’t noble, they were sick, they were murder. 

Spot could see Smalls waiting for him just outside the square, dressed in a tight fitting gown that obviously made her uncomfortable, she pulled at the neck of the dress as she waited, anxiously tapping her feet. 

“Come on, we’ll be late,” She led them through the crowd to stand near the food of the stage, they had a special place for them to stand, the volunteers. Spot could see the reaping ball on stage, filled with the names of people who were safe, no matter what happened, they all knew who was leaving. 

The people slowly filtered into the square, dressed in their finest clothes, excited smiles on their faces as they waited for the reaping to start. 

The capitol woman moved to the front of the stage,

“Welcome, district one, to the reaping for the 75th annual hunger games!” 

The crowd went wild, cheering and yelling. It took too long for them to quiet down. The capitol woman tapped the mic and cleared her throat. 

“I’m so glad to hear you’re all excited!” She waved her hand over the opening of the reaping bowl, “shall we get started then?” The crowd roared their approval. She plunged her hand into the jar. “The first tribute from district one will be… Hotshot Davenport!”

Spot looked over at Hotshot, he looked shocked. The crowd looked expectantly at Spot and Smalls. Smalls squeezes his hand before stepping forward. She screwed up her eyes, before opening them and yelling out with fake enthusiasm.

“I volunteer!” 

The capitol woman beckoned her onto the stage. 

“Well well well, looks like we have a volunteer, what’s your name dear?” 

“Small-Smalls, Smalls ma’am.” 

The capitol woman put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her closer. 

“Alright folks, give it up for district one’s first tribute!” 

The crowd screamed around him, Spot forced himself not to cover his ears. He looked up at the stage, Smalls was watching him. Her face was pale. There was no going back now. Not that she had a choice in the first place. 

The capitol woman was back at the reaping ball. She raised her hand in the air before burying it back into the names. 

“Alright!” She said, pulling a slip of paper out, “our next tribute will be, “Evan Brothe!” 

Spot didn’t know him. All he knew was that he had to take his place. He forced his feet to move. Walking out into the aisle under the expectant gaze of the crowd, he raised his head. 

“I vol-,” his voice cracked, and he forced it to work again, “I volunteer as tribute!” 


	4. Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! here's a new chapter, Thanks so much to everyone reading this. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Love y'all!

Jack Kelly smoothed his shirt over his chest as he looked in the mirror. It was slightly too small and wrinkled from disuse. Crutchie shifted next to him, propping his leg up on one of their chairs.

“You look fine Jackie, it’s your last year in the reaping. Stop looking so worried. We can come back home after and celebrate.” 

Jack smiled at him. He and Crutchie lived together on the outskirts of district twelve. Orphans had to stick together here, or they’d die. He tugged his hat more firmly on his head and nodded at Crutchie. 

“Yeah, yeah you’re right. Come on, let’s get something to eat before we head to the square ok?” 

Crutchie smiled at him, lifting himself up from his chair and retrieving his crutch from where it was leaned against the wall.

“For sure Jack, maybe a bowl of soup? We can split it,” 

Jack shook his head, ruffling Crutchie’s hair,

“Sure kid,”

Crutchie was fifteen, But his name wasn’t in the reaping bowl. The capitol had decided he shouldn’t be eligible to compete in the games due to his leg. They wanted a show, and thought he'd die too quickly. Jack wasn’t about to argue. 

They met Finch a couple of streets down from theirs, he was dressed as nicely as he could. His ma had rummaged up his father’s old reaping clothes for him to wear. They were the same ones he wore every year. 

“Heya Finch, how’s it goin’?” Jack waved at him with his hat, “Care to join us for a bowl a’ soup?” 

Finch waved back, smiling brightly,

“You tryin to fatten me up before the reaping Jack? Think it’ll save ya if your name gets drawn?”

Jack laughed brightly, Crutchie smacked him in the leg with his crutch.

“You shouldn't joke about that Jack,”

“Oh come on Crutch, like ya said, it’s my last year, I’m about ta be free of all this, huh?” 

Crutchie sighed but smiled slightly,

“Come on, ya owe me soup,”

The streets were crowded as they walked towards Jacobi’s shop. He sold good soup, and he sold it cheap. Jack swung open the door and strode in.

“Good mornin’ Mr. Jacobi! Fine day for a reapin’ don’t ya think?” 

Mr. Jacobi shook his head from the counter.

“You’re going to be the death of me boy, then ya won’t get anymore cheap soup, what do ya think about that?”

“Oh come on Mr. Jacobi, ya know ya like me,” Jack leaned on the counter, tilting his head at Mr. Jacobi over the counter, “We’ll take a small bowl yeah?” He dropped a couple of coins on the counter, “And throw in some bread too will ya? I gotta feed two today,”

Jacobi swept the money off of the counter and gave Jack an amused look,

“Alright kid, I’ll get that out for ya soon,”

The shop was pleasantly empty as they sat down at a table, people didn’t generally go for food on the morning of reapings, it wasn’t a day to be celebrated. 

Mr. Jabobi brought over their food and Crutchie slid the bowl of soup across the table to him, he dipped the spoon in and took a bite, tilting his head as he chewed on the tough meat,

“I’ll give this soup an excellent rating, Mr. Jacobi has done it again,” He grinned sliding the bowl over to Finch. Jack shot him a look,

“Hey now, I paid for that soup, who says ya get any, huh?” 

Crutchie just smiled at him, ripping off a chunk of the bread. Jack shook his head, pulling the bowl away from Finch, he held up his spoon in a toast,

“Here’s to not gettin reaped into the Games, may the odds be ever in our favor,”

It was a short walk to the square from the shop, and they slipped easily into the crowd. Crutchie split from them at the entrance to the square, going to wait with the people who weren’t in the reaping. Jack and Finch walked over to the kids their age, Jack was eighteen, Finch was seventeen. They were close enough to touch over the separating ropes.

There was a group of people from the capitol on stage, all spread out around the reaping bowl, a woman in a gaudy dress stood out in front, near the ball. Peacekeepers stood around the crowd, a dark reminder of what would happen if they didn’t do as they were told. 

The Capitol woman stepped up to the mic, smoothing her hands on her dress,

“Hello citizens of district twelve! Welcome to the reaping of the 75th annual hunger games!”

The crowd was silent, a baby was crying,

“Alright,” she said, “Well then, I guess we had better get started,” She walked up to the bowl, rolling up the sleeve of her dress. She delicately placed her hand in the ball, rummaging through the slips of paper, 

“And our first tribute will be,” She paused, looking out over the silent crowd, “Finch Easton!” 

Jack froze, looking desperately at Finch, Finch’s face was white, his eyes wide. Jack grabbed his arm,

“Finch, no…” he trailed off, looking desperately into his friend’s face. Finch grabbed onto his hand, shaking. 

He was yanked out of Jack’s hold,

“Come on boy, we don’t have all day,” A peacekeeper dragged Finch out of the crowd, pulling him up towards the stage, Jack stood still, he couldn’t breath, he couldn’t speak. 

The peacekeeper dropped Finch near the capitol woman, he stumbled, barely finding his balance before the woman grabbed onto his arm. Jack could hear his mother sobbing in the crowd. 

The Capitol woman smiled down at them,

“Well. Let’s give a big hand to our first tribute!”

The square was silent. Finch’s mom was still crying, Jack still couldn’t breath. He could see Finch’s hands shaking from the stage, his face was white. Finch never looked that way, Finch was always happy, always so alive. Jack wanted to throw up, he wanted to scream. The world seemed to spin around him as the Capitol woman stepped back up to the reaping ball. He didn’t hear the name she called, all he could see was Finch shaking from fear on the stage. He flinched when Finch suddenly collapsed against the peacekeeper next to him, he heard Crutchie scream from somewhere in the crowd. 

The world seemed to snap back into place.

A peacekeeper was pushing through the crowd towards him,

“Well are you deaf boy? Get a move on,” 

The man grabbed his arm and pulled him out into the aisle and suddenly he understood.

They had called his name. He was going to the games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think I'll only do one more reaping chapter after this and then get on to other parts of the story.   
> Also, how do you all feel about specs/romeo?


	5. Romeo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been a while, life has been crazy with school finishing and I wasn’t able to work on this as much as I wanted to. I hope you enjoy this!

Romeo rolled up the leg of his pants, trying to flatten the creases in the ankles, Specs stood nearby watching him. 

“You look fine, Romeo, no one’s going to care less if your pant legs are too long,”

Romeo rolled his eyes at him,

“There’s no crime in wanting to look good, Specs, that way I attract all the ladies,” He smirked at Specs, spinning in front of the mirror, “I mean look at me, I’m the best lookin guy in all the district dontcha know?”

Specs gave him a small grin,

“Come on your majesty, lets eat before we have to go,”

Romeo grabbed his collar and stood on his tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“Mmm maybe I should change the pants actually. Don’t really want ladies much, I gots you,” 

Specs rolled his eyes, kissing him gently, 

“Come on, let’s just survive the reaping ok? Two more years and we’re out,” 

Romeo grinned, spinning in socked feet over the wood floors.

“Mama! Do ya gots any breakfast? We’re starving,” 

Romeo’s mother laughed from the kitchen. 

“Oh, come and get it then, we have to leave soon,” 

Romeo threw himself down on one of the kitchen chairs, pulling the bowl of oatmeal towards him. He picked up the spoon, shoving some into his mouth, he grinned.

“Mama! It has sugar!”

His mother grinned, sliding the other bowl across the table to Specs,

“I thought we’d put something extra in today, we need all the happiness we can get,” 

Romeo shoveled more oatmeal into his mouth, he beamed kicking his feat against the underside of the table. Specs gave a wry smile,

“Well maybe not all of us,”

Romeo kicked his ankle under the table. 

Specs glanced out the window towards the passing crowd. 

“We should probably get going soon,” he picked up his now empty oatmeal bowl and carried it over to the counter. Romeo’s mother nodded, pulling on her nice coat and pulling Romeo’s bowl off the table. 

“You’re probably right,” 

It wasn’t a long walk to the square. Romeo’s mother’s shop was just down the road from it. Romeo gripped Specs’ hand tightly, the fear in his gut getting stronger as they walked. 

The square was already full when they arrived. The people of district eleven silent and waiting. 

Specs led them to stand with the other kids their age. His hands shook. 

A woman from the capitol was standing on the stage with a reaping bowl in front of her. Her dress was probably worth more than his mama’s whole shop. 

More time passed before she walked to the front of the stage, it seemed like an eternity. 

“Welcome, district eleven to the reaping for the 75th annual hunger games!” 

Someone in the crowd coughed. Romeo leaned into Specs, his whole body now shaking. Specs put an arm around him and pulled him closer. 

The capitol woman was walking over to the reaping bowl, her speech apparently finished. Romeo had missed it. 

Her hand went into the bowl. She drew out a piece of paper.

“Eres March!” 

Romeo relaxed slightly, only one more. 

He could see a girl, slightly older than him, walking shakily down the aisle, her head up, her eyes defiant. Romeo wished he could save her. 

The capitol woman put her hand back in the bowl.

“And our second tribute is…” she pulled a piece of paper out slowly and unfolded it. 

“Romeo-”

Romeo didn’t hear anything past his first name. It couldn’t be anyone else but him. He could feel Specs’ grip on him tighten. His head was spinning. Someone was calling his name. Their were hands on his face. 

Someone pulled him roughly out of the crowd of people.

“Come along boy, we don’t have all day,” the man’s grip was right on his arm. He stumbled towards the stage, his feet not seeming to work right.

The peacekeeper finally let him go when he was feet from the steps up to the stage, he suddenly felt a hand on his arm again, this one gentle. He turned.

Specs pulled him towards him, catching his lips in a kiss, 

“God, I love you,” 

A peacekeeper was storming up the aisle towards them,

“Hey, you can’t do that, tributes only!” 

Specs took Romeo’s hand and squeezed it lightly,

“I can’t let them take you,” 

“There’s nothing you can do,”

“Sure there is,” 

Specs took a breath, kissing Romeo’s forehead, and turned towards the stage.

“I volunteer as tribute!” 

Romeo’s world spun out of focus again, he grabbed Specs by both hands, pulling him towards him,

“No, no you can’t do that, you can’t, please,” 

Specs’ fingers slipped out of his grasp as he was pulled away from him,

“I just needed you to stay alive.”

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
